Galen in the Galein'
by Cowboy Doc
Summary: Doc Adams arrives in Dodge City intending to just have a quick meal, but he ends up staying for 20 years.


**Author's Note: **Several references are made to previous episodes that were in the TV series.

1- Season 17, Episode 5: New Doc In Town- When Doc leaves (actually due to health issues) he heads to Baltimore to return to medical school.

2- Season 16, Episode 4: Sam McTavish, M.D.- Doc is heading out of town for a celebration honoring Dr. Eldred Hudkins who sponsored his attending medical school.

3- Season 1, Episode 29: Doc's Revenge- Doc reveals that there was a girl named Ellen whom he had courted who chose another man and subsequently died.

4- Season 1, Episode 35: The Guitar- Bill Pence is referred to as the owner of the Long Branch frequently in the early episodes. There were at least 2 actors who portrayed him and I chose this episode for his description. Later Kitty was said to be a partner, then to have bought him out.

5- Season 17, Episode 14: The Bullet, Part 3- Kitty talks about arriving in Dodge with the intention of leaving just as soon as she could until she sees Matt. I made the assumption that Doc arrived before she did, although both were there in the first episode.

6- Season 17, Episode 12: The Bullet, Part1- Doc plans on taking Matt to Denver to have Dr G. L. Harrington operate on him. Doc says that Dr. Harrington is the finest spinal surgeon around.

Historical references that are used: There is no actual time set for the Gunsmoke series, but there are several factors that can give it's time period: cattle drives began arriving in 1876 and the Long Branch Saloon burned down in 1885. This has to be the time in which 20 the seasons of Gunsmoke were set. The railroad station was a block south of Front Street where the Long Branch was set. It appears in many episodes, but in Season 17, Episode 12: The Bullet, Part1 the depot appears as described in the story. The official population of Dodge City was 996 in 1880.

**Galen in the Gale-in'** by Cowboy Doc

For a man who began with such promise, he certainly did not follow the conventional line to success. He grew up in rural Maryland, the youngest son of a third generation American farmer who had a prominent farm and dreams that his children would be rich and educated and his family would be considered to be among the finest families in the state. Maxwell Adams' two oldest sons had purchased fine farm land and as their wealth grew, they became interested in serving in the state legislature. Both of his daughters had found fine gentlemen to marry and were raising families that were also admired.

But his youngest son, who was 5 years younger than his nearest sibling held out promise of being even more of a success than any of the other children. He studied hard and did very well in school. But young Galen was never the pliable type of child. He had a mind of his own from the time he was a small boy always asking "Why?" He was more interested in the animals than the crops, and was always there when one of them was suffering some type of ailment.

But everything changed when Galen was fourteen. His father came down with a cough, and despite the local doctor's best efforts and medicines, quickly deteriorated. He died peacefully at age 57. His wife cried and Galen was heartbroken more at his Mother's suffering than even at his Father's death. He quickly made up his mind that if there was anything he could do to help relieve such pain and sorrow, he owed it to the memory of his father to seek out the means to do so.

A few short years later, with the sponsorship of Dr. Eldred Hudkins who had been impressed with young Galen's desire to become an accomplished physician, he enrolled in the College of Medicine in Maryland, located in Baltimore, one of the oldest and finest medical schools in the country. After finishing his studies, he set up a practice in town only a few miles from the family homestead. But after a few years of building a practice, the tensions of the country were building to a boiling point. Maryland was caught in the middle of the great divide the country was facing. Many of the people around him considered themselves Southerners and sympathized with Virginia and the slave states. And when Abraham Lincoln won the presidential election in November, 1860, the states to the south felt compelled to withdraw from the Union and form their own country where men would be free to own other men. Galen, now a middle-aged doctor of some note in the area spoke openly of freedom for all men and the need to preserve the union of all the United States. His brothers, who had a voice in the politics of the state, were able to assist in keeping Maryland in the Union, but could not keep the Confederacy from plunging the nation into its darkest days since freedom from England had come at the cost of the lives of many loyal young Americans.

As war broke out in April, 1861, Doctor Adams felt the call to do what he could to help. Although many men his age enlisted in the Army to fight the enemy, his special skills forced him to serve the noble cause by tending to the wounded. For four long years he treated soldiers with injuries from bullets, cannon fire, shrapnel, and bayonets. But some of the most horrific suffering came not from men battling with other men, but with the unseen menace of disease. The toll of human life from weapons could be understood as they fought for a cause they believed in. But when troops were felled by **typhoid fever, diarrhea, and dysentery, Doctor Adams felt that it was a senseless waste of life. The best young men** of the nation dying due to conditions that spread disease like wildfire and there was nothing he could do about it.

When the war finally ended, the toll of human life had been enormous, but he knew that it had been worth it to end the scourge of slavery in the United States. He and some friends went out to celebrate the Union victory on the Friday night after they heard that General Lee had surrendered. Glasses of beer were raised toasting the end of the war and the hope of a return to civilian life. About midnight, Galen said he thought that he would return home to see his Mother. She was getting pretty old and he wanted to see her again. He had only been home occasionally during the last four years, and he was worn down by the challenges had had faced and the friends he had lost. But then a man ran into the saloon shouting that President Lincoln had been shot

The medical instincts in him caused him to grab the man by the arm. "How bad is the wound?" he shouted.

"The telegram said he was shot in the head and is in bad shape."

"Where did it happen?"

"I think it was a theater in Washington, but I don't know for sure."

Galen's first reaction was to hurry to Washington to help. He had dealt with many cases just like this, and he feared that the doctors around the president had no expertise in that area. But then he realized that he was several days away from Washington, and there was no chance for him to aid his fallen leader.

The party quickly ended and many at the saloon headed to a nearby church to pray for Mr. Lincoln. As Galen walked up the steps toward the church door, he could hear church bells all over the city tolling for this latest blow to the country. He spent a couple hours there, but finally left in exhaustion when there was no further news other than that the president was gravely wounded. Galen knew that wounds to the arms and legs often were recovered from, but wounds to the torso or head were almost always fatal. If the damage from the bullet didn't kill you, the infection that followed usually did. In frustration, he headed back to the tent in which he was staying while awaiting release to return to his home.

In the following weeks, life began to return to normal for Doctor Adams. When he had enlisted in the Army, he had volunteered to work as a doctor for the men, helping as he could. But when it became evident that the hope of the assassins to restart the war had failed, he received his discharge from the Army and he returned home. But, as many soldiers have found, returning to civilian life is not as easy as it might seem.

Many of his former patients were all too happy to have Doctor Adams back. He had a friendly, caring manner, although he now seemed to be a bit more irascible. He had gained a wealth of knowledge about injuries and diseases, and always seemed to be on the cutting edge of new treatments. He would willingly spend long hours seeing everyone who would come by, and traveling to see patients too sick to make the trip to his office. But he gradually became impatient with how mundane it all seemed. Back in the '50s he studied under some of the best minds in medicine. And during the war, he had learned how to treat patients with critical injuries as fast as humanly possible. And when he moved to another patient, he could put the last one out of his mind knowing that he had done the best he could and whether the soldier lived or died was out of his hands. But now he was treating little old ladies with "palpitations" and farmers' rheumatism. Somehow it just didn't satisfy his craving to really make a difference in the world. Reading the local newspapers he would find stories about how things were growing on the "Wild Western Frontier." It seemed romantic and exciting and was almost like the time he spent with the Army. But his Mother needed him. The two of them lived alone in the town now. His brothers now worked the farm, and Galen couldn't leave her alone anymore. So he had hired a cook who helped take care of Mrs. Adams while he visited his patients.

He made inquiries as to where a doctor might be needed in the west, dreaming of where he might be more useful. But there was no way his mother could go. She was too old to travel out there and didn't want to leave her grandchildren and now great-grandchildren. And he couldn't leave her. So, as was his way, out of a sense of devotion, he stayed right there, even though there were a dozen doctors within riding distance of his office, and he knew that the West was growing so fast that the medical profession couldn't keep up.

Having his office in their house allowed him to spend time with her often. As the months turned into years, knowing him as she did, she regretted his restlessness that could not be satisfied due to his loyalty to her.

"Galen," she said to him one evening as he was tucking her into her bed, "You need to take care of yourself and not worry about me." She looked at him with the eyes of a mother who knew her son was dissatisfied with his situation and desired that he be given the opportunity he longed for.

Speaking in a voice so soft that his patients would think it must be someone else speaking, her son replied, "Now, Mama, you are no bother to me. I enjoy being with you. I don't need to be out evenings. I'm getting too old for that."

"That's not what I'm talking about. You aren't pleased to be working here anymore. I know you want to go somewhere to be more useful. Go ahead. I can live with one of your brothers or sisters."

He sat down on the side of her bed and took her left hand in his right hand and caressing it he looked lovingly at her. "I'm useful right here with you. I couldn't leave you. Besides, what would Papa say if he knew I had abandoned you? I have my responsibilities right here, not just to you, but to all my patients, and even to Mrs. Harding. Where can she find another job? And she loves to cook for us and help you. No, I'm needed right here."

"Mrs. Harding is a wonderful friend and helper, and she can go with me where ever I live. Or she could easily find another job as a cook in another house. And your patients have other doctors to go to. And besides, your Papa would be very proud of you. He always wanted his children to be kind and a help to others, but mostly he wanted them to be happy. And the only way you will be happy is if you are serving where you feel you are most needed. I have heard how you talk about the west, and if you can find a town that needs you, don't let an old lady who is going to die soon anyway stop you. You find a place and go."

Returning to the gruff voice that his patients would recognize, he said with authority, "Now, Mama, you're going to live a good long time yet, so I don't want to hear another word about it."

"Son, promise me that you will make inquiries. You told me about a hospital in Denver that doesn't have enough doctors. Find out if they can use a skilled surgeon." Mrs. Adams could still speak with her authoritative voice as well.

"I'm not a skilled surgeon. I just had some experience during the war, but that was mostly working by necessity. I'm just a fair country doctor."

"Promise me you will ask."

Running his fingers through his mop of hair, he peered into her eyes. "Well, alright, if it will make you happy, I'll write to Denver and ask. But there's no way, I'm going out there any time soon. It's February already and by the time they would want me to come, it'd be summer, and I'm not riding a train out there in the summer. It's not bad enough putting up with the heat and the dust. But with the windows open, you're getting smoke and soot and ash from the engine all day everyday. No sir, the only time to ride a train is in the dead of winter when they keep the windows closed and the stove hot. I had my fill of riding trains in the Army."

"And tell me what you find out. I love you telling me about Missouri and Colorado, Texas and California. It all sounds so thrilling. It's the only excitement an old lady can get." Despite her years, she could flash her charm and get her son to obey even if she was well beyond turning him over her knee.

"Yes, yes, I'll do it," he said rising from the bed and fluffing up her pillow. "But right now the doctor says its time for you to get some rest. We can talk about it tomorrow," he said, turning the knob on the door and quietly opening it

"Thank you, son. You have always been good to me."

He paused in the doorway, he looked back at her. She was beautiful, even though she was now in her early nineties. "Mama, you can be as stubborn as a mule sometimes. But I love you for it."

He leaned down and blew out the candle. As he closed the door he heard her say, "You should; it's where you get your stubbornness."

That November found Doctor Galen Adams standing on the loading platform of the railroad station in Baltimore. He looked quite a sight standing there with his brothers and sisters and their families. They were all dressed in their fancy new clothes while he was wearing a rumpled coat, pants that looked like he had slept in them, and a broken down broad-rimmed hat that seemed like a casualty of the war that had ended more than ten years ago. His sister Belle turned to him and said impatiently, "Really, Galen! Let me straighten that tie." She adjusted the loops, trying to make him a little more presentable. But it seemed to be a futile attempt, like wiping the nose of a child who was playing in the mud. "And your hat! A gentleman should wear a hat, not just stick it on his head. And you should have been to the barber. Even your moustache needs trimming. Galen, you need a wife to dress you."

With a pained expression, he exclaimed, "That'll never happen now." The pain of Ellen's rejection and her death were still all too fresh.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to…" Her voice trailed off, not knowing what to say.

With a grumpy expression he replied, "Now, don't fuss so. I'm heading to Denver, not New York. Out there they don't care what a man dresses like, only what he is like on the inside."

His brother Michael chimed in, "Well maybe, but if you appear respectable, they will treat you with respect. I have found that a fine suit and groomed hair can open doors through which one may encounter people who can further a career."

"I don't need any doors opened and I don't need anyone to further my career. I'm doing just fine on my own." Galen glanced around impatiently, anxious to board the train. In the three months since his mother had died, they had managed to settle the estate, sell the farm, and he had closed his practice. He felt that he had concluded his life here in Maryland, and was ready to head west and assume his duties at the hospital in Denver.

They heard the train bell begin clanging and the conductor call out, "All aboard!"

The family crowded around him, showering him with hugs and kisses and good-byes. With tears in her eyes Belle said, "Oh, Galen, I can't believe we'll never see each other again."

Rubbing his hand across his moustache and off his chin to try to hide his emotions, he replied, "You don't know that. Sometimes doctors need to return to school to learn new things. If I feel a need for that I'll come back to Baltimore, and we'll be able to catch up on each other."

As he turned to board the railroad car, cries of "We love you," "Write to us," and "Have a safe trip," rang out. Glancing up and down the platform he saw many other families doing many of the same things the Adams were doing. Swinging his medical bag in front of himself as he stepped up into the Pullman car, he turned to see his entire family waving, shouting, and blowing kisses in his direction. He knew that he was leaving all that was familiar to him. But it didn't really matter. With his parents gone, and his only true love Ellen dead and buried, there was little to hold him here anymore. He could face the future with an excitement he hadn't felt in many a year, regardless of what it might hold. And just maybe he would make some new friends with whom he could have as close a bond as his family had always been.

Doctor Adams awoke with a start. He sat up and stretched. Dozing on a wooden bench while being bounced around by the swaying of the Pullman car, did not lend itself to restful sleep. But having been on trains for four days causes one to sleep when ever he can. Of course, as a doctor, Galen had learned how to sleep when he got the chance, whether it was a chair at a bedside, or in a hospital office, or, occasionally, in his own bed. The slight padding on the seat helped a little, but at his age he found his bones didn't find the seat satisfactory.

He looked out the window at the passing landscape in the late afternoon light. He had ridden over the Appalachian Mountains just a few days ago. Then through the wooded flatlands of Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois. Crossing the Mississippi River into St. Louis was one of the most amazing sights Galen had ever seen. And then continuing west the land became flatter and flatter. And out here in Kansas there were hardly any trees. From the window he could see for miles. And what he saw was snow. He didn't mind snow. It made a pretty view, but it was snowing hard now. "Well," he thought, "You said you wanted to travel during the winter, so you got what you asked for." Of course, he knew Denver could get a lot of snow, being in the mountains and all, but he hadn't figured on getting the snow before he reached Colorado. Well, he should be there by morning and he anticipated a whole new life.

As the miles rolled by, he noticed that it seemed to be snowing harder. In the darkness it was hard to tell how much snow there was, but he was glad that he was riding on the train. His horse and buggy would have been a struggle in this kind of weather. But trains just glide along the rails, just as pretty as you please. And there was peacefulness to the sound of the train whistle crying out the approach of the modern mode of travel that would allow a man to traverse the entire country in days instead of weeks.

As he was lost in his thoughts, the conductor came down the aisle calling out, "Next stop Dodge City! Five minutes to Dodge City, Kansas!"

Galen raised his face toward the conductor, and asked, "We going to be here long enough for me to stretch my legs? These bones are ready to get off this sorry excuse for a sofa chair."

"Sure," he replied. We have some passengers getting off and some freight to unload, so we'll be here for forty-five minutes. You could go over to the Long Branch to have a beer, or the next block up there's Delmonico's where they will serve you a nice quick supper. And it shouldn't be crowded with the weather. Everybody wants to stay in on a night like this."

"You know all the places in all the towns?" Doctor Adams asked.

"Well, riding up and down the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe you get to know a lot of towns. Besides, there isn't much in this town to know."

"Thanks. I'll be back in time," glancing at his watch. He didn't bother asking what time it is in Dodge City. Every town having its own time, it was best to just follow the time on your own watch.

"We'll give 3 toots on the train whistle to warn passengers ten minutes before our departure. You'll be able to hear it."

When the train had come to a halt in Dodge, Doctor Adams moseyed off the car. There was no station platform. He just stepped from the step the porter had set below the car steps and onto the snow covered ground. Noticing that his foot sank far enough into the snow that his pants cuffs disappeared, he considered turning back to the warmth of the railroad car. But the thought of a hot bowl of soup and a good cup of strong coffee was more than he could resist, so he headed in the direction the conductor had pointed.

While it was true that there weren't many people out on the street, he could tell not everybody was at home. In two blocks he must have passed six saloons and they all seemed to be booming with business. But he found Delmonico's Restaurant all right, and it wasn't very busy at all. Quickly closing the door behind him to shut out the cold, he stomped the snow off his shoes and looked for a table. He realized it wouldn't be hard. Of the ten or twelve tables only three were occupied. So he took a seat at an empty one. And within a minute, the waitress was there to take his order.

"What kinds of soup do you have?" he inquired.

"Chicken soup, vegetable soup, and beef stew," she replied.

"The beef stew would just hit the spot. And some bread and a cup of hot coffee, please."

As she walked back to the kitchen area, he looked around. It wasn't fancy, but it was a very nice restaurant. Not at all what he had expected in a little frontier town. Of course Denver, although still in the west, was a big city with a population of over thirty-thousand people. "They may not have all the amenities of Baltimore, but they would have plenty for me," he thought. "They have theaters, opera, an orchestra. Of course, I rarely go to the theater, and I haven't been to an opera or symphony in years. Not since Mama was in good enough health to go. I guess I'll have to start back in on a social life if I'm going to be a doctor in Denver. Gotta set a good example for the ruffians and riff-raff that will be my patients." He shook his head at the thought of who his patients might be.

As the waitress approached the table with his meal, the door opened again and the biggest man Galen had ever seen stepped in.

"Hi, Marshall," the waitress said. She didn't even look at or address the doctor as she placed his food in front of him, but he didn't notice because this big man had captured his attention, too. "How is it out there?" she asked.

"Well it's really snowing and the temperature feels like its going down, too. If this keeps up, I might get a couple easy days. Nobody wants to break the law when they can't run off, or trailing them is as easy as following footprints in the snow." He had unbuttoned his big coat and the doctor saw the big badge on his chest.

"You want a cup of coffee?"

"You must have read my mind. I didn't come in here just to make sure your tablecloths are clean." He gave her a friendly half-grin that showed his friendliness.

"Have a seat and I'll have it right there."

The big man had crossed the rooms in about three steps and now turned to look where to sit. He saw a stranger sitting alone right behind him. Their eyes met and he said, "Mind if I sit with you? No sense in getting another table messy."

Rising halfway out of his seat, the doctor said, "Why sure, don't mind at all."

As they settled back down the waitress brought the Marshall's coffee and refilled the doctor's cup. She asked, "Would either of you care for a piece of apple pie? It's still warm and it doesn't look like we're going to sell it all tonight."

The big man said he would, but the doctor said he didn't have time. He had to get back to the train. "Relax," said the Marshall. "I just came from the depot and the engineer and conductor were discussing the weather. They don't want to head into the mountains with this much snow falling. They're going to lay over 'til morning, then if the weather clears up they'll move on. So we'll both have a piece of pie. My treat." The two slices of pie were quickly set in front of them.

"The train is not leaving tonight?" more as a statement of complaint than a question. "Well that's just fine! I got to get to Denver. I'm supposed to meet Dr. Harrington there tomorrow."

"Are you sick or something?" the big man asked.

"No, no. You see I'm a doctor myself and I'm going to be working with Dr G. L. Harrington there. He's a fine surgeon and I'm going to work with him. He assures me that I will learn things about surgery that I never dreamed of."

"Pardon me for saying this, but aren't you a little old for starting a new career?"

"Old? Why I'll have you know my mother only died three months ago, and I'm cantankerous enough to live to be ninety, as well. I'll probably still be stitching people up when you're sitting in a rocking chair complaining about your arthritis."

With a sheepish grin, the big man replied, "I didn't mean to rile you up. You do seem plenty lively. I'm Matt Dillon, and I'm the United States Marshall in these parts."

Shaking hands across the table, he answered, "Good to meet you Marshall. I'm Doctor Galen Adams. And don't worry about my feelings getting hurt. As a doctor I want people to speak openly. That's the only way I can figure out what's wrong with them."

"That's good because out here people usually speak their mind. Unfortunately for me, they frequently act just as directly. That's when I have to step in. But it keeps the town lively."

"I could tell that by the ruckus being raised in some of the saloons I passed along the way from the depot." Finishing his pie and coffee, he said, "I guess I better get back down there and get my valise, and find a place to stay."

Matt, having finished his pie and coffee also, said "I'll walk with you and then show you the Dodge House. Its Dodge's best. It just opened a couple months ago." Each dropping enough coins on the table to cover the bill and a tip, they headed for the door.

As they stepped out a blast of cold prairie wind smacked their faces and they reflexively reached for the collar of their coats, drawing them up close around their necks. The Marshall had on a thick fur lined overcoat, but all the doctor had was a suit coat and vest. While it was winter weight, it was no match for the Kansas winter. As they made their way down Central Street, the younger man was concerned for the older man.

"You warm enough, Doctor?"

"Fine, fine. I'll get my overcoat from my trunk in the baggage car, then I'll be Okay."

They could hear the chugging of the engine idling on the track, and could smell the smoke from the fire in the boiler. But Galen could tell from the sound that the fireman had banked the fire to let it ease down until morning.

As they trudged through the drifting snow, the doctor realized that under the snow was only on a dirt street. "There's no cobblestones or brick here," he shouted over the wind.

"The town's still kind of new and we're trying to get a handle on those sorts of things," Dillon returned.

"In Baltimore, even the alleys are paved, and here you have a main street that's not."

"Actually, none of our streets are paved." The big fellow realized he had to slow down a little, because the doctor was almost running to keep up with him.

"Then this isn't much of a town!"

"Hold on. Baltimore's been around a bit longer than Dodge. Ten years ago this was all just grassland. The only civilization in these parts was Fort Dodge about 5 miles east of here," he said pointing in the direction from which the train had come." In ten years we've built a nice hotel, a Post Office, a theater, a couple banks, blacksmith's shop, a barber shop, a jail, a school, a train depot, a couple general stores, and a dressmaker's shop. There's a boarding house, a livery, a hay and feed, dance halls, and probably as many saloons as Baltimore has. We even have an undertaker, and Boot Hill where he can ply his trade. And as near as I can figure, we only have about seven or eight hundred people who call this home. I'd say we've come a long way in a short time."

"You might have come a long way, but to my way of thinking, until you have paved streets, you aren't much of a town."

"We've got just about everything but a town doctor, and maybe you can fix that up."

"No, no. Like I said, I'm on my way to Denver."

"Suit, yourself. You're the doctor." They let the conversation fade at this point because the exertion of shouting to be heard over the wind was more than they wanted to bother with.

As they were approaching the train, Adams looked around. "And another thing, you call this a train depot? It's just a place where the train stops. There's no depot here!"

"Doctor, if you look over there behind the train, that's the depot building."

'That's just a freight warehouse and it's on the wrong side of the train."

"There's a board there showing the scheduled arrivals and departures, and a ticket window, and a bench to sit on while you wait for the train. Sounds like a depot to me." The Marshall's eyes twinkled, as much from the cold as knowing that he was getting under the old man's skin.

"You can call it a depot, or the Taj Majal, but it's just a stop on the way to Denver for me."

"I don't know. A lot of people who stopped here were headed somewhere else, but found for all its faults, it's a pretty good town and decided to stay."

"Well, don't count on me to be one of them."

As he was pulling the doctor's trunk down from the baggage car, with a sly grin, the tall one said, "That's fine. Now we best get your overcoat on you and get you a room for the night, or you'll come down with pneumonia, and we don't have a doctor to treat you."

Before leaving the depot, the old man sought out the conductor once again to inquire what time the train would be leaving. "We're planning on 9 A.M. sharp," came the reply.

"I've noticed that you railroad people always talk like you operate like clock-work, but you rarely do." Pulling out his watch, he asked the current time. When told the time he set his watch to local time and said "I'll be here and you better be ready to go on time 'cause I need to get to Denver."

They arrived at the Dodge house a short time later. As they opened the door, Howie, the desk clerk looked up. "Evening, Marshall." He had been seated behind the desk, nearly asleep, but he quickly moved into his role of Hotel Clerk from his role of mildly bored employee. It had been a quiet evening to this point.

"Evening, Howie. This here's Doctor Adams from Baltimore. He was on his way to Denver 'til the storm changed his mind."

"Doctor, welcome to the Dodge House. We're the finest hotel within fifty miles, and we're always glad to have a prominent citizen staying with us. If you would just sign the Guest Register, I'll get your room key." Looking down at the medical bag and small valise at the doctor's feet, he asked, is that all your luggage?'

"No," the doctor replied, "I have a trunk that the freight handlers are bringing from the train. If you could have them bring it to my room."

As the clerk began to answer, the front door burst open and a young man rushed in. The doctor couldn't help but notice the stiff-legged limp with which the young man walked. "Marshall, I been looking all over town for you!"

"What's happening?" Dillon asked, his instincts causing him to tense up sensing that he had to respond to whatever the emergency was. The town may have had many amenities, but when it came to peace-keeping, he was the law in Dodge.

"It's the Johnson's house over on Third Street. The roof collapsed, and they're still inside."

"The roof collapsed?"

"Yeah. I guess it was all the snow."

Dillon began moving toward the door, but Doctor Adams' professional instincts were aroused as well. "Is there anybody hurt?" he cried.

"I don't know mister. It's the Johnson's and their three kids and her mother, Mrs. Lane. I don't know if any of them's hurt or not."

Grabbing his medical bag, he followed Dillon, who had already run out the door and to the east. "I better come, too."

Howie called after him, "I'll take your valise up to your room," but the doctor had already gone out the door with the other man. Howie quickly closed the hotel door against the cold.

Hurrying down the street, not even noticing the cold, Galen didn't have to know anything about the town to be able to find the Johnson's residence: he could just follow the commotion. He could hear the voices of men and women shouting, and children crying. There were dogs barking, and the sound of pieces of wood being tossed about. As he rounded the corner, he saw what appeared to be a big pile of lumber with men crawling all over it. But in front of the pile was a part of a wall with a porch and roof and a front door still standing, To the left a stone fireplace and chimney stood like a monolith It was almost as if someone had gathered the materials to build a house, began building a fireplace and the front of the house, and then quit.

Over all the hubbub one voice could be heard as clearly as if he were the only one talking. Marshall Dillon was barking out orders, making sense out of chaos. "Over here by the chimney! Get that spot cleared off! There's somebody crying!"

As the doctor looked around, he saw three women standing near what was left of the front of the house. The two on either side were concerned with the one in the middle. She was holding a baby wrapped in a quilt and she was visibly crying even at this distance.

Knowing that he would be of more help treating victims than in trying to rescue those still in the rubble, he quickly approached the small group. "Are you hurt?" he asked with his caring but professional voice.

Startled by the question, the middle women averted her eyes from the men on the pile of wood and said, "No, I'm fine, but my family-"

Stepping close to her, the doctor noticed her forehead was bleeding. But in the light from the lanterns and torches that had been brought to the scene, he could see it was only a superficial wound that he could treat later. "How's the baby?"

Haltingly, with her attention divided, she said, "Caleb is alright also."

But Galen, knowing that her thoughts were on the missing, wanted to be sure. There was nothing he could do for those still in the heap until they were found. With all the gentleness he could muster, he said, "I'm a doctor and I'd like to examine him just to be sure." Reaching out to gently take the infant in his arms, she at first resisted, but then seeing the medical bag in his left hand, and seeing the compassion in his eyes, she allowed him to take the baby.

Hunching down to use his thighs as an examination table, and placing his bag at his feet where he would be able to access any of his instruments, and while cradling his young patient with his left arm, he quickly unwrapped the child. He thought to himself, "Breathing normal; no signs of bleeding." Feeling the arms and legs he felt no broken bones. He pulled back the eyelids to check the pupils-normal. Even the autonomic responses were normal. The child, who appeared to be almost a year old, was sleeping peacefully. Quickly he wrapped the child back into the quilt, stood up and handed him back to the mother. "He's fine, but I'll have to look at your forehead later."

The doctor's attention was diverted by shouts from the pile. Evidently, they had found the boys. From what Galen had heard being called out, there must have been three rooms in the house. The Johnson's slept in the bedroom on the side of the house along with the baby. Their two oldest boys slept in the parlor by the fire and Mrs. Lane slept on a cot in the kitchen. Mr. Johnson was one of the men working to uncover the rest of the family.

Some of the noise Doctor Adams had been hearing was the crying of the boys. He looked over to see a boy of about four standing on the wood just as a man he assumed to be Mr. Johnson grabbed him up and to carry him in the doctor's direction. The doctor soon realized that the boy was not being brought to him, but to his mother. "It worked out well to be in this spot," he thought. As they got close, the boy pulled away from the man and leapt at his mother, crying profusely. Doctor Adams bent down again to give this child a quick examination. The child had his arms wrapped around his mother's leg and she began patting his head and speaking soothingly to him. The medical examination was quite cursory because the small one seemed to be fine, only scared.

The doctor again turned toward the center of activity to see another child, this one maybe seven being carried by the Marshall in his direction. The child was crying profusely. "Doctor, I think this one has a broken leg. One of the roof beams landed on him."

Swinging back into action, Galen again went over the vitals, and found that indeed a broken leg seemed to be his only serious issue. It suddenly struck him that this was the first time since the war that he had had to assess and act this quickly. But now he had a decision to make; whether to gather his patients in a place where he could treat them, or wait to see if there were further casualties that would need his attention. "Is there any body else?" he asked.

Dillon replied, "We haven't found Mrs. Lane yet." Turning toward Mrs. Johnson, he asked, "What area of the kitchen would she have been in?"

"Her cot was over in that corner," she answered pointing to the far corner of what had been a house.

Dillon circled the remains rather than crossing them shouting as he went, "Back this way. Let's get this lumber cleared away. Do it carefully, someone may be under it."

In just a minute or two, the doctor heard cries of "We found her!" Grabbing his bag and hurrying in the same direction the Marshall had taken, he arrived just as the old woman was uncovered. Moving forward, he stepped carefully across the boards toward the woman. She appeared to be about his age, and he could see immediately that she was badly injured. Assessing her injuries quickly he knew she had many broken bones, and was bleeding profusely from multiple wounds. Checking her breathing and pulse, he knew that there wasn't much hope, but this is what he is called to do- treat the sick and injured as best he can.

Sensing that this was not an area that lent itself to medical treatment, he rose to his feet and analyzed the best approach.

"How is she doctor?" the Marshall asked.

"She's not good," he answered. "We've got to get her somewhere where I can give her the attention she needs. Do you have a hospital or doctor's office, or someplace I can use?"

"Well, there are the rooms our last doctor used over the general store. That's empty."

"That's fine. Now you guys, give us a hand. She's still on what's left of her cot, so you can use that as a stretcher. Pick it up carefully, and take it where the Marshall was talking about." Three of the men gathered to do what the doctor had ordered. "Is there anyone else in there?" he asked.

"I don't think so, Doctor, but we have one case of someone who got a nail stuck in his foot," was the Marshall's reply.

"Well, you better bring him along, too. And Mrs. Johnson and the kids. I'll have to take care of all of them."

Shuffling off in the same direction the others were going, he realized that he had forgotten the cold. The snow had stopped, but the wind was still howling. The Doctor was glad he had stopped to get his overcoat. With this wind blowing across the prairie, he'd have hypothermia by now if he was still in just his jacket.

Looking around as he walked and thinking to himself, the doctor noted that this town was still pretty crude. The Johnson's house was typical of the buildings around here. They seemed to be thrown up as quickly as possible in any haphazard fashion that would allow shelter from the elements. But then his attention came back to what was going on. They must be at the doctor's old office already. The men carrying the makeshift stretcher were turning to head up some steps along side a store in an alley.

"Now hold on here," said the doctor. "You mean to tell me, we're taking my patients up there?"

"That's where Doc Holiday had his office. It's the closest thing we've got to a hospital," relied the Marshall.

"All right, but you men be careful with her. She's in bad enough shape without you dropping her over the railing." The three men carried the stretcher as carefully as they could with the doctor following close behind. That same young man with the limp he had seen earlier had hurried ahead and was opening the door already. Behind the doctor was a large group of people that included the rest of the injured, as well as concerned neighbors and the curious. As he entered the room, there already was a lantern lit, and the young man who had gone ahead was clearing off junk from the table that stood in the middle of what had evidently been an examination room. Over in one corner stood a small man who appeared to have just awoken from a drunken stupor.

"Louie, you better find someplace else for tonight."

"Sure thing, Marshall," he answered, hurrying across the dim room and out the door.

The stretcher was laid on the table, and the doctor approached his most critical patient. He realized the room was filling up fast, and that would interfere with his work. Looking into the steely eyes of the big man he said, "Marshall, I need this room cleared. Anybody that's not injured needs to be out of here."

With the take-charge style Doctor Adams was becoming accustomed to Dillon said, "Okay, folks the show's over. We appreciate your help, but the doctor has to take care of these people." About a dozen people quickly moved out the door and down the steps. Turning back at the door, He asked, "Do you need anything else?"

The doctor looked up, rather surprised. "I need you. Somebody's got to help me, and you seem to have the skills necessary."

"I don't know anything about doctoring, but I'm willing to help."

"Good. See if you can get some more light in here. And how about some heat so I can use my fingers. I forgot all about the cold for a while, but now I'm feeling it."

The Marshall called out the door, "Get some makings for a fire up here and some oil for the lights, and bring some chairs, as well," before closing it. Repeating his earlier question, he asked, "How is she, doctor?"

Having given his attention to the old lady while all the other things were going on, even in the dim lantern light he could see the woman was dying. "There's just too much damage. I can't treat all these injuries, and even if I could, she's lost too much blood already." A howl from behind him reminded him that the old lady's daughter, Mrs. Johnson, was standing there with the rest of the family. He knew that although their injuries were slight compared to the old lady's, they needed attention, too. He took the seven year old boy from his father's arms, and as the rest of the family gathered around the table where Mrs. Lane was laying, he laid the boy on the blanket where the drunken man must have been sleeping in the corner. The blanket was still warm from the man's body, and it was the next closest thing to a second treatment bed. The Marshall came over and leaned down to ask simply, "How's he?"

"Other than a compound fracture of his right leg, and some scratches and bruises, he seems well enough." Looking kindly at the boy he asked, "What's your name?"

The boy had been crying since he was still buried in the wreckage of the house. Through the tears he answered "Jeremiah."

"Jeremiah! That's a good name from the Bible," Doctor Adams said in a soft voice.

"Yes," said the boy a little more strongly. "And my brothers are Joshua and Caleb."

The doctor was running through his mental checklist of things to examine as he spoke in a soft and reassuring voice. "Those are all fine Biblical names. They were all brave men."

"Yes, I know," the boy replied. "I learned about them in Sunday School."

"Well, I'm going to need you to be brave, too, 'cause I'm going to have to hurt your leg a bit to make it better. Can you be brave like they were?"

"I'll try," he said looking more fearful than brave.

Turning back to his large assistant, Adams said, "I'm going to need you to hold him still while I set this bone back in place. Now if you just keep him from moving, I'll just come over here by his feet and reposition the bone."

Moving deftly, with motions he had used many times in tents in the battlefields of the war, he took the leg and with a quick snap, dropped the bone back where it belonged. The boy screamed out in pain, but he instantly returned to simple crying. "I'm sorry son, but it's all over now. You're going to be as good as new in a few weeks."

The parents had turned their attention from the old lady to their son with the sudden outcry he had made, but by the time they had moved closer, all the action was over and Doctor Adams was on his feet and reassuring them that Jeremiah was going to be just fine. He told Dillon he would need a couple boards for a splint and some strips of cloth to secure the boards and stabilize the leg.

As he stood, he noticed that one of the men had managed to get a fire started in the grate, and the room was beginning to warm. And the same man was putting oil in the lamps above the table, and momentarily the room would be almost usable as a doctor's office.

Giving his attention to the lady on the table again, he found that what had been a weak pulse rate had now ceased. She had passed out of this life and into the next quietly. He looked now at Mr. Johnson, and it came to his mind that he hadn't give any thought to the father, who had also been in the house when the roof gave way. Looking into his eyes, he asked, "How are you?"

"I'm not hurt," came the reply. The doctor could see his pupils were fine and there were no apparent injuries to him. Then analyzing the situation, Adams assumed the parents and baby must have been protected by a bed with a large frame as the roof was dropping. And the boys were sheltered from the full force of the roof falling by the large stone chimney that acted as some protection for them. But the old lady had been in an area that had no extra support. When the roof collapsed it brought the outside walls down, too, and it all landed on her on the cot.

Then looking back to the four year old for the first time since his cursory examination on the scene, he still found nothing to raise his concern. Taking the baby again from his mother, the baby was as healthy as if he had been peacefully sleeping in his mother arms all night. Checking once again on Jeremiah, he found that he was just about asleep on the make-shift bed. That left him free to attend to Mrs. Johnson. Handing the baby to Mr. Johnson, he led her to one of the chairs that had been brought. Other than the cut on her forehead and the tears on her cheeks, she seemed fine.

Opening his bag, he drew out some bandages. As he looked around he noticed that someone had brought a pitcher of hot water. Thankfully he dipped a bandage into the water and cleaned out the wound, finding it to only be superficial.

"How did you cut yourself?" he asked, as much for easing her mind as to gain information.

"As we were scrambling out of the bed, a board hit me."

"It doesn't look too bad. I just have to clean it and bandage it. Now this might sting a bit." As he was speaking, he grabbed a bottle of iodine from his bag and opened it. He poured some on the bandage in his hand and applied it. She winced and jumped slightly, but didn't make a sound. He then wrapped a bandage around her head explaining he was doing it to keep out any dirt.

Matthew Dillon had returned with the splint and strips of cloth, so they turned back to young Jeremiah. He was resting peacefully, but his leg had to be attended to, so Adams tenderly picked up the leg and began cleaning the wound. When he began to stitch the skin back together, the boy awoke. Doctor Adams spoke quietly again to the boy, complimenting him on his bravery. He warned the child about the sting of the iodine before applying it, and Jeremiah fought hard to hold back the tears. The leg was now hurting, but the doctor knew that the events of the night and the late hour should push the boy back to sleep soon, and by the time the splint was in place, the boy had drifted off to sleep again.

Sensing that he had rendered all the attention the Johnson family required, he and Dillon stepped out the door to talk. The doctor asked about the man who had stepped on a nail. Dillon said he had left and wasn't worried about it. "That's bad. A wound from a nail can be very serious. Infection, blood poisoning, all kinds of things can happen. I need to examine him."

"Well, doctor, I guess the people of Dodge have gotten used to not having a doctor around, so they just make do."

"Somebody's got to teach these people that injuries shouldn't be ignored. They need medical attention. The finest minds in medicine find ways to treat all kinds of things, but they don't do you any good if you don't see a doctor."

"All I can tell you is without a doctor in the town, we just make do."

"All right! Well let's make this place do for the Johnson's for tonight. They need a place to stay, and it's already got a fire and light."

The Marshall called down to the crowd still milling about at the bottom of the steps, "We need some blankets and pillows for these people. Galen noticed a gentleman coming up the steps who was unmistakable for his purpose at coming. "Evening, Marshall," he said.

"Evening, Percy," said the Marshall. "This here's Doctor Adams, who just happened to be passing through. Doctor, this is Mr. Percy Crump, our local undertaker." The two men exchanged pleasantries, and then the three entered the door. Mr. and Mrs. Johnson were the only ones awake and they were sitting quietly in the two chairs, each holding a son.

Crump expressed his condolences and offered comfort to them, which they accepted sorrowfully. He offered to remove Mrs. Lane to his funeral parlor, and to begin arrangements first thing in the morning. They said they would be grateful. So opening the door again, he motioned to the men that he had standing by to carry the stretcher out. A couple ladies followed them in with blankets and pillows to help settle the family for the night. Before departing from them, Doctor Adams told them he was staying at the Dodge house, and they should send for him if they needed him. Otherwise, he'd be back in the morning to check up on them.

Matthew Dillon and Galen Adams slowly went down the stairs, Adams with his medical bag in hand. At the bottom of the steps, the younger man started to turn toward the Dodge house, but the older one turned toward to head back to the train station. Galen was beginning to know his way around and he headed in the direction he intended. "Where're you headed?" the Marshall asked.

"I've got to change my ticket," answered the doctor. "That boy's going to need some attention for a few days, and since you don't have anyone else, I'll have to do it."

"You sound like you're going to stick around."

"Well, I can't very well leave that boy with a broken leg to heal on its own. And His mother's head will need some tending to."

"Somehow, I thought you'd come around." The Marshall had returned to his playful mood since the situation was now under control.

"Now don't get the wrong idea, I'm still heading to Denver. I'll just have to let them know it'll still be a week or so. I have to make sure there's no infection or anything. I better send a telegram. You got a telegraph office?"

"Sure. I told you we have all the conveniences of a city; just more excitement."

"At my age I don't need excitement. And as a doctor, it only makes more work."

"Well, I'm sure that with all the excitement around here, we've got plenty of work to keep you busy."

"Well, right now the only work I want to do is to change my train ticket, send a telegram, and get to bed."

The next morning found Doctor Adams at the Marshall's office. He had slept better than he had since leaving Maryland, and after looking in on his patients and finding no cause for alarm, he had headed toward one of the few brick buildings he had seen in the town. Coming in the door, Galen was once again reminded that this was a frontier town. Here was a government office that was no more than bare walls and a few sticks of furniture. When he said as much, the tall fellow said "There's more here than that. We have jail cells, a checker board, a coffee pot, and wanted posters on a bulletin board. That means we have everything a Marshall's office requires."

"The doctor said, "You always sound like a travel brochure trying to sell someone on this cow town."

Picking up the pot from the stove and a couple cups, he asked, "Do you want some coffee?"

About that time, the door opened and in came the young man Doctor Adams recognized as the man who had been helping get the room ready for the Johnson's last night. He was dressed in simple clothes and when he took off his heavy coat, Doctor Adams saw he was wearing suspenders but no gun, which seemed unusual on both counts. But his most distinguishing mark was the stiff-legged limp as if his knee did not work.

Dillon introduced the man as his helper, Chester Goode. The doctor expressed his thanks for the assistance last night. In a southern twang Chester said, "It weren't nothin'."

Adams said, "No I mean it; you did a fine job getting the place cleared so I could treat those people."

"I just try to help where ever I can."

"As a doctor, I was curious about your leg."

"It's just something I did as a kid. It don't bother me none."

Matthew, knowing Chester didn't want to talk about his leg, interjected, "Chester here's the one who makes the coffee every day. He's here early every morning to sweep the place and do what ever else we need." Then changing the subject, he asked, "How are your patients?"

"Oh, they're doing alright. Some of the townsfolk are up there tending to them now. You know, it's nice to see how all these people help each other out. I guess it's this small town that makes everybody friendly."

"That's probably part of it," Dillon said. "But it's also that everyone in this town has come from someplace else, so we can all appreciate what it means to leave all your friends and family and have to make new friends. People just want to make newcomers welcome."

"It's just nice to see. Have you gentlemen had breakfast yet?"

"Why no, Doctor. How 'bout we go have a bite. At Delmonico's you can get a great omelet."

"Now that sounds right delicious."

Sitting at the table eating their breakfast, they looked like as much of a rag-tag trio as ever had appeared in town. One was six and a half feet of power, the second an old rumpled grump and the third trim yet as green a tin horn as could have been expected to be seen. But they were all in a gay mood after a night when they had met the challenges of being men who were relied upon to serve their fellow man in times of need. The doctor said, "Last night you mentioned something I was curious about. Did you say the last doctor in town was Dr. John Holiday?"

"Yes. Why? Have you heard of him?"

"Of course. He and the Earp brothers were often talked about in the newspapers. They sound like heroes"

"I'll tell you what I've learned about the newspapers. Half of what they tell you is made up. And the other half is a bunch of exaggeration."

"So they're not heroes?"

"They are good men and they were good for Dodge City before there was a United States Marshall here. But they could be too hard sometimes. It's a balancing act keeping law and order in a town like this."

"So as a doctor, he didn't help people?"

"Oh, he helped keep the peace, and he did treat sickness and all, but sometimes I thought he preferred putting bullets into people to taking them out."

Chester chimed in, "Mister Dillon wasn't here when the Earp's was here. But they was a couple tough hombres. The Marshall keeps the peace as well as they did, only he's a nice guy about it. They'd as soon shoot you as look at you."

"Well, I've never been one to carry a gun."

"Take a word of advice, Doctor. Men in the West wear a gun on their hip as naturally as boots on their feet."

"I noticed Chester doesn't wear a gun."

"Oh, I don't mind guns," Chester said. "I just don't generally wear one. It kind of throws me off my balance."

Marshall Dillon added, "As my assistant, he can be a target, but being unarmed means most men won't fool with him. The authority of my badge kind of extends to him. But most everybody else in Dodge has one."

"In Maryland, guns were usually just hung over the mantle for decoration."

"Around Kansas, a gun is a keeper of the peace. Just like doctors, there aren't enough lawmen to go around."

"I can shoot a man if he needs it, but the reason I came out here was to heal people, not to kill them.

"Do me a favor, as long as you're in Dodge, carry a gun."

"I'll tell you what; I'll put a pistol in my bag, but I'll only get it out in an emergency."

"That's all I'd expect. That's the only way I pull out my pistol, either. Just in emergencies."

Chester tossed in, "Doctor Adams, it sounds like we'll get along real fine."

Later during the afternoon, while Chester and the doctor played checkers in the sparse United States Marshall's office, Dillon made his rounds of the town. All was quiet unlike most of the evenings when cowboys were living it up after a hard days work. Between the drinking, the poker games, and the women, there were always things to fight over. And fighting seemed to be the number one past- time in Dodge City sometimes. But in the office of the United States Marshall, checkers was number one. And Doctor Adams fit right in, enjoying the competition.

Dillon came in with a stack of mail that had come in on the stagecoach. He sat at his desk going through the mail giving special attention to the wanted posters as the checker game continued. Finally, when he had finished, he stood up and said, "Chester, I think it's time we have the doctor meet one of our prominent business men in this town. Let's go introduce him to Bill Pence."

Chester's eyes lit up like stars on a prairie night. "Well, that's a good idea, Mr. Dillon. Let's do that."

After a short walk down the street they came to the Long Branch Saloon. Entering the swinging half doors, Galen noticed that the room seemed prosperous for this town. A nice mahogany bar with a large mirror behind, a large room with many tables and chairs, a piano, now unattended but he could tell it had been used a lot. There was a staircase up to rooms above, although the main room had a two-story high ceiling with lights hanging down low enough to illuminate the tables when it was dark out. The windows in the front were painted with a diamond pattern to keep the women and children on the sidewalk from being able to see in. He assumed it was to keep passers-by from being offended and to allow some measure of privacy for the men inside. Sometimes they wouldn't want to be associated with the goings-on in here. But for all the nice touches, it still had a bare wood floor with spittoons in strategic places.

They stepped up to the bar, and Galen was introduced to the owner, Bill Pence. He was middle aged, bald, and no taller than the doctor. But with his fancy vest, pants, and garters on the sleeves of his white shirt, he looked the part of a prosperous businessman. The garters were obviously to keep him from sloshing beer on his shirt cuffs and to allow him to deal in a poker game if needed. But this afternoon he was just tending the bar.

"It's nice to meet you, Doctor Adams. I hope you stick around awhile."

"Probably only a week or so. Just until I know the Johnson boy is not in danger of an infection."

"Yeah," said the Marshall, "I keep telling him that we need a doctor in town, but so far, he isn't convinced."

"I'm convinced you need a doctor, I just can't convince you it's not going to be me."

"Maybe a free beer will help persuade you. We have the best beer in Dodge. And still only a nickel."

"It'll take more than five cents worth of beer to convince me to give up a post in Denver for this town."

"I said I only charge a nickel, but it's worth at least twice that much," said Pence defensively.

Dillon thought he better step in. "Bill runs the best saloon in Dodge, and when he says his beer is the best, he's telling the truth. Chester and I make it a point to check up on it at least once a day, and I have yet to find a better beer in town. Isn't that right, Chester?"

"Oh, yeah. It's the best. When I can afford it."

The Marshall turned toward the proprietor. "You still looking for a partner, Bill?"

"Yes, but it can't be just anyone. I want someone who is friendly enough to have good relations with the customers, but tough enough to keep the cowboys in line when they come in from a cattle drive. And he'll have to be good with the books, keeping up with the receipts and our stock. I won't take just any man who wanders in here."

Looking toward the doctor, Dillon explained, "Bill bought the Long Branch a couple years ago and has built quite a reputation. It's the best saloon between St. Louis and Denver. And there are a lot of saloons in that distance."

"But it's getting to be a little too much for one man to handle. And I'm not getting any younger. If I find the right person for the job, one of these days I may just sell out and move on."

"Bill, from what I hear you've checked out every man in the territory and not a one meets your standards," said the Marshall. "Either you're going to have to lower your standards, or give up."

"The way I figure it, Marshall, one of these days, someone is going to ride into Dodge on the stage and be exactly what I'm looking for. It might be someone entirely different than you might expect."

Galen looked around and realized that while they had been passing the time, the place was filling up with patrons. The piano was being played, men were laughing at tables being hosted by girls in pretty dresses, and poker games were being played. Early evening seemed to bring Dodge to life.

That evening the doctor was in his room at the Dodge house when there was a knock at the door. He opened it to see Chester standing in the hallway, panting is if he had run here. "Doctor, Marshall Dillon said I needed to come and get you. There's been a shooting."

"Let me grab my coat and bag, and you can tell me about it on the way." Heading out the door and down the steps, Chester gave the doctor as much as he knew. Some of the cowboys were in the Lady Gay Saloon playing poker, and one that was loosing accused another that was winning of cheating. "Well around here, when someone calls you a cheater, you don't like that. And then they let their guns do their talking."

"So one shot the other?"

"Well, no they shot each other. But they was both half drunk, so neither one is dead, but I think the one is hurt pretty bad."

Arriving at the Lady Gay didn't take more than a couple minutes. "This town is so small you can get from one side to the other on foot faster than you can cross Baltimore in a carriage," thought the doctor. Entering the door, he saw the two men, one sitting in a chair with a wound in the thigh, the other lying on the floor with blood soaking the right side of his shirt. Sensing the need to be greater in the man on the floor, he walked over to him and knelt down. Ripping the shirt to get a look at the wound, the doctor found that it wasn't as bad as it looked. The bullet had passed through the man's side leaving both an entry and exit wound. They were booth bleeding, but other than the loss of some blood there was no major injury. "You're going to be fine," he told the cowboy. "Once the bleeding is stopped and I clean it out, it should heal nicely."

Turning his attention to the one seated, he saw there was only an entrance wound. After a short examination he declared, "The bullet is lodged in the muscle. There doesn't seem to be any damage to the bone or ligaments, but the bullet has to come out." Rising to his feet, he now noticed Dillon standing there and wondered how he had missed the presence of such a large man. He figured that his attention had been so focused on the victims that he had been oblivious to extraneous factors. That was a talent he had learned as a doctor on the battlefield. To concentrate on the patient and let others worry about the rest. "Can we take them somewhere for me to work on them?"

"Well, there's doctor's old office again," said Dillon.

"What about the Johnson's?"

"Mr. Jonas had rooms above his store that were empty, so the Johnson's moved in there until they can rebuild their house."

"Okay," said the doctor, "But I'll tell you what. If I'm going to keep using that place, it's going to have to get cleaned up. I can't work in a pig sty."

"It's a deal, Doctor Adams."

Once again Galen was at work treating injuries in the up-stairs clinic. After removing the bullet and cleaning and bandaging both men, the Marshall asked if they were safe to move. "I suppose so, but where are you going to take them?"

"Well they were both drunk and disorderly, and fired their weapons in an unsafe manner. I was thinking that if they wake up in a jail cell, maybe it will teach them to be more careful."

"That is an excellent idea. They're probably so drunk that it'll do them both good. But how do you propose to get them there? I'm too old to carry either of them."

"Well, I've got Hank and Chester here to help me, and it's just down the street. But I want you to come along to make sure they are still alright when we get them there."

"Sure. I got nothing better to do with my time than play nursemaid to a couple of overgrown baboons."

As they made their way half carrying and half dragging the two cowboys, Chester asked, "What is baboons?"

The doctor looked up and said, "What?"

"Baboons. You called them baboons. What is 'baboons'?"

"A baboon is a non-hominid primate of the genus papio. They have large snouts, are hairy and ugly, and can be bi-pedal, although they are normally quadrupeds using their knuckles as feet. And they usually live far from any form of civilization. Meaning they live in Dodge City."

"Now, I'm not sure what you said, but it didn't sound very nice."

Galen grimaced and shot a look toward Chester that was a mixture of disgust and dismay.

By now the patients had become prisoners and the doctor was looking them over to make sure the wounds had not started bleeding again. "It wasn't meant to be nice. If I wanted nice I would have stayed in Maryland."

"My goodness, Doctor, you can be a grumpy old cuss."

"How are they doing, Doctor?" the Marshall interrupted, as much to change the subject as to get his question answered. He was beginning to sense that if he did get the doctor to stay in town, he'd end up playing referee most of the time with these two.

"They'll be fine once they sober up." Then, after a pause, he asked, "Does this town have something like this happen every night?"

"No," said the Marshall. "This is pretty unusual this time of year. Of course, once the cattle drives start showing up, the town gets pretty lively. Then there's the buffalo skinners, and hunters, and professional gamblers, and gunslingers that all roll into town at various times. You thinking about how to make a living here?"

"No. I just was thinking that since I need to stay for a few days, I probably should get that office set up so people can come to see me while I'm here."

"You know, by then they'll probably be a couple more people shot and needing attention, and we have people getting sick and babies being born all the time."

"Now this is just temporary, you understand. I'm too old to do this kind of stuff all the time."

"Doctor, I wouldn't dream of pressuring you to stay ay longer than you want," answered the Marshall with that same playful look again. "But I couldn't help but notice you have a Bible in your medicine bag. Are you a religious man?" The Marshall didn't want to seem nosey, but was only curious.

"Well now, I'll tell you I'm not a Holy-Roller or anything like that, but I do practice what I believe. And the Good Lord has given me eyes and ears and hands to treat the sick. And He's allowed me to learn a thing or two about getting out bullets or splinting broken legs. And I have some wonderful instruments to find and solve medical problems. But I can't heal anybody. That's in the Lord's hands. Sometimes I do all I can, then the only thing left is to pray. I've seen men with what I thought were a minor injury, just suddenly wither and die. And I've seen men I thought wouldn't live through the night be up and fully recovered in a week. Medically speaking there's no explanation- none. But God works these things out in His own way."

"I've seen your work and you are as fine a doctor as I've ever known. But if you say that God does the healing, that's good enough for me."

"Yeah, we don't always understand what He's doing, but we know He's doing it."

"Well we even have a few churches around here, and I'll be glad to point them out to you later, Doctor Adams."

"Thanks, but if we're going to be working together, we really need to get past these formal names. Call me Galen and I'll call you Matt."

"Dodge is certainly not a formal kind of place, and I'd be honored to have you call me Matt. But I don't know about Galen."

Galen grumped back, "What do you mean? Galen is a fine name. It was the surname of an ancient Greek physician and medical researcher."

"That's fine, but it's still a little too formal for Dodge. How about I just call you 'Doc'? As long as you're the only doctor within thirty miles of Dodge nobody can be confused about who I'm talking to."

"It's a deal, Mar- uh, Matt. By the way, I better send a telegram to Dr. Harrington in Denver telling him I'm staying on here in Dodge for a few weeks. "

"We'll swing by the telegraph office a little later. Right now we better get over to the Long Branch."

"You think there's going to be a fight?"

"No."

"Somebody needing medical attention?"

"No."

"Well, why in tarnation do we need to go there then? I'm too tired to troop all that way through all this snow for no good reason."

"Because I need a beer."

"Now that's the smartest thing I've heard you say since I got to Dodge."

"Stick around, Doc. Maybe I'll think of another smart thing to say one of these days."

"I don't know if I've got that much time. I may only live to be ninety."


End file.
